


Prelude to Disaster Bastards - Summer

by Regressive_RS



Series: Recipe for Disaster Bastards [2]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, RFDB, Shared Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24707107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regressive_RS/pseuds/Regressive_RS
Summary: Many World Guardians from different universes have been invited to dine at Burthorpe Castle! Little do they know that they'll be whisked into a rather familiar adventure...
Series: Recipe for Disaster Bastards [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777126
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Prelude to Disaster Bastards - Summer

The distinct musk of the Burthorpe Guard wafted outside the window as Summer stands in the middle of the rented room.

 _How unpleasant,_ she thought to herself with a slight grimace.

Some things never changed: Same smell, same dingy tavern. Even more recently, at Seren’s council meeting the smell managed to pervade and permeate the entire city.

Then again, she had never planned on returning so soon after the disaster that had taken place at that cursed gathering.

“Make nice with the Elder Gods. Prove that life deserves to exist,” Seren had decreed.

It had immediately gone to hell. The Fremennik wouldn’t work with the vampyres in Morytania, fearful of witchcraft and ghasts. Next, the Zamorakians wouldn’t contribute to the garden in the desert unless the Citharede Abbey was torn down.

Summer had objected rather vehemently to that. She may have left the abbey, but it was still her home for a time, and extremely important to the Saradominist cause.

Then, King Roald refused to utilize an undead workforce. The universe in danger of being torn asunder, and yet here they all stood, bickering like children.

If that wasn’t enough, the deception enacted by Kerapac and his plan to sacrifice Gielinor for the sake of the rest of the universe… It had all been a disaster.

_No sense in thinking about such things now. Until Kerapac made his next move, there was nothing to do but wait. No point in agonizing over it._

Crossing the room to grab a crude wooden chair, she dragged it over to the small vanity, which appeared as if it hadn’t been cleaned since this wretched place had been built. Settling herself gingerly on the chair, she looked over herself in the mirror.

_How much had changed in so little time._

Had her hair always been this limp? She couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered much in the desert — any maintenance to one’s appearance would be folly there. You’d just sweat it away.

Withdrawing a small ivory brush from the top drawer of the vanity, she began to brush out her hair, trying to restore some of the life and vibrancy it once held. She can’t help but wince as her elbow caught the edge of her stomach, which left her sucking air for a moment.

Looking downwards, vision slightly blurry, she rested her hand over the sore spot. Even after all this time it was still beyond tender, and frighteningly painful at points. Wounds from elder artefacts never seemed to heal properly, leaving her not only with a nasty scar that seemed to burn all its own, but a mind addled by thoughts that weren’t hers and prolonged periods of complete blankness.

It hadn’t taken long for her to make a second pilgrimage into the desert after that. She was a threat. Not just to herself, but to her beloved God and his cause.. It had left her empty and hollow, but she had no other choice. If Saradomin only knew, she’d be excommunicated on the spot. Then what?

Summer had arrived on Ali’s doorstep after two weeks, not trusting the safety standards of the so-called “magic carpets” that had stations ever so helpfully scattered across the immense desert. The trek had been killer, and she nearly collapsed in his doorway with tears in her eyes, begging for help with her affliction.

 _When was the last time I thought of him as Ali?_ Summer thought.

That was where she had been for the past two years after Sliske’s little “endgame” — in a desperate search to evict these thoughts from her head, and whatever Sliske had done to her from her body.

Finished dragging the brush through her hair, she arranged it as nicely as she can, before stowing it away once more. It would probably be stolen while she attended this… whatever this was, she supposed. But it’s not like she needed it daily, anyway.

Next rummaging for a small pumice stone, she dips into the small bucket of water beside her and begins to excoriate her exposed skin, removing the top layer of desert grime and sand. No matter how well one washed, it simply stuck everywhere, once you had spent enough time in the desert. That, coupled with the lack of easily available water, meant most people could fill a small beach once they left. Summer was no exception.

Gently working around her face, the stone slowly bringing some color back to her soft flesh, she couldn’t help but think back to the letter that had placed her back here to begin with. It had been slipped under the door in the dead of night, the courier unseen and unheard. Wahisietel wasn’t particularly attuned to the shadow realm, but he _could_ feel other mahjarrat even if they were skulking about there, so it had been safe to assume it wasn’t from them… 

Still, she had been ready to just throw it away.

Someone had clearly put work into the invitation, the envelope it was contained within was a testament to that. Her name… Her _full_ name had been inscribed on it with long, flowing letters, and the very edges were pressed with some of the finest gold leaf she had ever seen. _That_ was impressive, given her smithing lineage, and familial wealth. 

Poised over the garbage, but unable to drop it, she had bitten down on her lip.

“Why not at least open it?” Wahisietel had reasoned. “If nothing else, sate the curiosity and move on.”

She’d rolled her eyes, of course. She hated to admit he was right, but… she couldn’t just _not_ know. Delicately opening the envelope, she pulled out the letter, noticing it was composed of two separate sheets of paper.

* * *

_Dear Sir or Madame,_

_Because of your exemplary service and leadership in times of great peril and need, you are hereby cordially invited to Burthorpe Castle for a dinner in honor of you and your compatriots._

_To RSVP, simply follow the instructions on the second piece of paper included in the envelope which you received, and convene at Burthorpe castle on Pentember 35_ _th_ _._

_We anxiously await your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Reservists For Devoted Brethren_

* * *

_Do… Do they think I’m stupid?_ Summer had thought idly at the time, turning over the second piece of paper and scanning it with her eyes.

The instructions therein were simple: _Write down your preferred dish, and sign your name_. That was all.

“Troubled?” Wahisietel had asked, snapping Summer out from her preoccupation. She could only nod mutely.

He had taken the paper gently from her, looking it over himself once more. Times were strange, for sure, but everything had been strange since the _snake_ had assassinated Guthix. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he finally shrugged.

“You should go, and see what it’s all about,” he said. We’ve made little progress here, and it will give me time to travel and talk to other scholars about your… condition.” He paused. “Plus, you can finally take that wretched sword out of my house,” he added, perhaps with a bit too much contempt as his eyes fall over the Silverlight, tucked neatly away in the corner.

He quickly grabs a quill and dips it into an inkwell, thrusting it into her hand. She looks up at him through slitted eyes.

“Trying to get rid of me?” she queried, closing her delicate fingers around the quill. “What, is the big bad…” she looked towards the window to make sure Nkuku wasn’t skulking about outside again before continuing. “Mahjarrat,” she whispers, “Scared of my wittle sword?” she teases him, settling the second paper down on the table in front of her. 

Eventually, Summer had admitted he was probably right. It was easier for him to travel without her, and he could use the time to gather leads in places she couldn’t – or wouldn’t, go.

Too lost in thought to hear his reply, she tried to think of something the group would have a hard time sourcing. If she was going to make the trip to Burthorpe _again_ , this reservist group would have to put in at least _some_ effort.

 _Saradominist Sugar Cookies… That’s what I want._ She thinks to herself, quickly scrawling it out across the paper, and then signing her name. They were a specialty of the castle in Falador, and the recipe had never been given out. She’d gotten to try them during her missionary training, and had never tasted anything quite as good since.

Looking towards the small closest she kept her missionary armor in, she sighed. She didn’t think she’d be having to don it again so soon after Seren’s council. She’d had alterations made to it, of course. A bit more padding here and there to ensure that she wasn’t knocked out by the lightest brush on her side.

“What’s the likelihood of you washing my armor if I ask really nicely?” she turned to Wahisietel, flashing a grin.

“You’d have a better chance of getting Evil Dave to become a devout Saradominist,” he replied, to which Summer’s grin fades.

“Maybe they’ll give me another scary sword while I’m in Burthorpe…” she mumbled, gathering up her things. She’d have to set out by the end of week to make it in time, after all.

“Summer, I swear to Zaros, I will evict you from this house if you bring back another sword like that,” Wahisietel warned, though it was clear he was not serious.

Coming back to reality, her eyes wandered down once again to the ornate envelope. She had taken it with her — no sense in leaving it behind only to find out she needed it when she arrived.

Finally done with the pumice, she stored it away and looked over herself in the mirror once more. It was better than nothing, at least. Rubbing her lower back as she rose from the uncomfortable crude chair, she grumbled.

_I’m going to spring for the nice room the next time I travel._

Slowly assembling her outfit, she felt a sense of guilt. Was it right for her to still be wearing this, having walked away from that life? From that _duty_? Shaking her head, she continued to put on piece after piece.

Trying to sort her thoughts, she lightly dabbed some perfume along her wrists, collarbone, and behind her ears. It had been a gift from Wahisietel, lavender scented. It helped ground her, when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control.

(As he had put it, ‘Most creatures stink after traversing the desert. Humans especially so.’ She tried not to be too offended by his insinuation at the time, but he hadn't been _wrong_.)

 _It’s always something I can go back to after this is sorted,_ she told herself, though she knew she wouldn’t.

Slipping on her gloves and bracers, she picked up her Saradomin Star, and slipped it over her head. Settling the chain behind her neck, she tucked it into the top of her shirt as well. For the finishing touch, she grabbed Silverlight, carefully slipping it through the straps built onto her armor. On a normal day she’d carry it at her side, but frankly it’s too damn heavy to do that, and she didn’t need to be hassled by the Imperial Guard on her way up to the castle for having her blade unsheathed.

Exiting her room and locking it behind her, she made her way downstairs, heading through the seedy bar portion of the tavern and outside. Going to take a deep breath of air, she turns slightly green, and stops just short. Maybe it was a better idea to get closer to the castle first.

Starting on her way up to the hill the castle was on, Summer took in the scenery around her, savoring the relatively slow hustle and bustle that was Burthorpe. A group of young Imperial Guard cadets jogged past on her right, and she couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of pity.

 _They’re just trolls… Dumb as rocks, aren’t they? Maybe dumber,_ she joked to herself.

Putting away her thoughts for the time being, she ascended the steps to the castle, before being stopped by one of the more senior guards.

“State ya business,” he said, the scars on his face standing out rather prominently. The glint in his whitened eye was obvious — he must’ve been totally blinded there.

 _Did he do that with the claws…?_ Summer wondered, holding out the letter. 

“I was told to report here for some sort of society meeting.” She stated, as he snatched the letter up, smearing dirt and grime over the ornate details.

 _Guess I won’t be able to reuse that, now._ Summer thought, as the guard looked between the letter and her.

“Alright then, up the stairs, first door on the right of the foyer,’ he said, shunting the envelope and letter back at her,

She climbed the stairs yet again, the doors to the room already open as she peers inside. Peering at the clock on the inside, she could see she was fifty minutes early. Although it was hard to make out, the decoration of the room was extremely elaborate, with what had to be at least twenty spaces previously set, perhaps more. What a far cry from the previous event she had been ‘invited’ here for.

 _Better early than late,_ she thought, crossing over the threshold. A subtle chill creeps over her body, and two people seemingly pop into existence as she enters the room.

For a moment, she’s struck speechless. She was _sure_ that these two men hadn’t been in here previously..

“Oh, so this _is_ a Saradomin thing,” said the shorter one, wearing some sort of woolen hat. “Hey, can you tell your boss that there better be at least 15 tentacles on that plate?”

“Stop.” said the other, dressed rather simply, and seemed to be wearing some sort of… Claw rings?

Still stunned by the sudden appearance of these two men, Summer took a brief second to collect her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, a… Saradomin thing? My boss?” she asks, feeling immediately uneasy. “Is… this not the room for the dinner?” she asked, holding up the letter to them.

“Oh, sorry, I thought with your…” spoke up the man with the woolen hat “Are you one of the guests too?” he asked, a hint of confusion spreading across his boyish face.

Summer nodded, fiddling with the edges of the letter once more. 

“I am. I’m… Summer. Summer der Messer,” she said, taking tiny steps towards them. “I was led to believe that we were invited here for our distinguished service to the world?”

The two men exchange a surreptitious glance.

“Yeah, we were. So you’re a... knight? Or… an Adventurer?”

Summer groans inwardly. It wasn’t rare for people to not know who she was, but it got ever so tiring to explain it to them.

“Something like that,” she said, waving her hand a bit in front of her. 

Leaning against a chair that had been pulled away from the table, she studied the two men. They didn’t seem like much, but looks could be deceiving.“If you don’t mind my asking, what are your names?” she said, putting on her best missionary smile. Maybe she had heard of them, but just never met them before?

The shorter man reached his hand behind his back, and Summer tenses ever so slightly.

“I’m Jordan, and this is my husband, Riza,” he said, playfully floating their nameplates above them, and Riza gave a polite wave. 

“And if you’re Summer, then…” He continues, scanning the table before making a third nameplate float, “You’re seated over there.”  
  
 _Jordan and Riza…?_ The names didn’t ring any particular bells in her head. No matter, they had all been invited here for a reason, and they didn’t seem to have any ill intent. Still, she couldn’t shake a feeling about Riza. There was just something… off. She hesitated to call it chaotic, but there was some sort of energy there she didn’t like.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, wandering over to where her nameplate continued to float. Her fingers drift among the fine cloth adorning the top of the table, reading the names off of the other cards as she went.  
  
“Quintus Stoke… Oswin Knax… Teiran Weaver…” she murmured, racking her brain, trying to see if any of these people were familiar to her. 

She pauses. “Does… does this man have _numbers in his name?”_ she asks, looking up at Jordan for affirmation. 

“Crazy, right? It looks like your… Brother? Husband? Is coming, too.”  
  
Summer’s face screws up in confusion for a moment. She didn’t have a brother. Nor a husband… _yet_ , she admitted quietly to herself. 

_Perhaps my father has also been called?_

“I haven’t got any of those…” she says, continuing down the path, stopping just short of her nameplate once again. The color immediately leeched from her face as she sees the nameplate next to her spot.  
  
Winter der Messer.

  
“My sister…” she mumbled, resting a hand against her cheek. “For Saradomin’s sake…”

Unbeknownst to her, Riza’s eyes had trained onto the Silverlight strapped to her back.

Plucking her nameplate from the air, she set it back on the table. There was a good chance Winter wouldn’t even _come_ to this… _But what if she did?_ That was not a fight she wanted to have right now.  
  
Turning to look up at them again, she managed to arrange her face into a sheepish smile.  
  
“I know you said that you were married… but would you mind terribly if I swapped spaces with one of you?” she asked. “My sister and I don’t exactly get along well.”

“I… don’t think that will work, sorry. Though, I mean, no-one else is here, so” he says, waggling his fingers at the nameplate, “I could switch them with someone else's if you’d like.”  
  
Summer bites her lip. She supposed she didn’t see much order to the nameplates otherwise, it probably wouldn’t matter too much…  
  
“Go for it,” she said, waving him forward. It’s then that she notices Riza’s gaze on her.  
  
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked, not quite sure where he was looking.

“Huh? Oh, no, sorry. Uh…” he said, gesturing to the sword “Your sword… I was admiring it. It’s a really good replica of Silverlight.”

Summer arches her eyebrow.  
  
“Replica? I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. This is the genuine blade.” she said, reaching up and patting the hilt. “Sir Prysin himself let me have it after I slayed Delrith outside of Varrock.”

Riza cast a confused look towards his husband. “Uh… Jordan, were there… Two Silverlights? You never mentioned that before.”

Summer shook her head.“I’m _quite_ sure there was only one, and I have it right here.” she said, sliding it off of her back, and holding it flat in her hands. “Look at it yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

Riza crossed the room to examine the blade, with Jordan hot on his trail.

“Damn, yeah, it looks just like it used to,” he said. “It even repels me like yours did as well.” 

“Wow, some family heirloom. I bet Gideon’s made a fortune selling these to aspiring demon slayers.” 

Summer grit her teeth in frustration.  
  
“Who in the hell is Gideon?” she asks, having begun to lose a bit of patience. “There’s only _one_ Silverlight, it was wielded by the legendary hero Wally Prysin, and passed on to me to defeat the demon Delrith.” she exclaimed, getting a tad worked up. “The fact that you keep insisting this is anything but genuine is insulting.”

She would’ve continued, but between the brief lapses in bickering, they can hear steps as someone new entered the room, almost missed by them in the cacophony. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Chaos_Elemental for helping me to edit. Without her help, this wouldn't be even a fraction as good as it has become.


End file.
